


On the road (through a world trapped in amber)

by bauble



Series: A Noble Waltz, Unmoored [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:14:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24566740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bauble/pseuds/bauble
Summary: A series of standalone shorts set in Lucis during the game, prior to reaching Altissia.Stars, long-dead: a moment at Wiz Chocobo PostQuietude: Iris and Gladio catch up in LestallumVolta (the turning): Ignis and Gladio share an evening in Lestallum
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia
Series: A Noble Waltz, Unmoored [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1748872
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	1. Stars, long-dead

Ignis looks good in the waning sunset. Out of place with his spiked hair and clothing, but Gladio supposes they all are. None of them belong on a dude ranch, that’s for certain.

Yet here they are. Even though Iris is waiting for them in Lestallum and they’ve got actual shit to do, Noctis insisted--

Gladio takes a deep breath; getting pissed probably won’t help. A distraction might. He leans against the railing of the fence that Ignis is standing by, pitches his voice low. “You want to hit the head?”

Ignis glances at the chocobo stalls. Prompto and Noctis are trying to feed a disinterested bird; the greens they’re offering look like they’ve seen fresher days. “Five minutes.”

The bathroom is filthy, of course, but less filthy than most of their roadside stops have been. The smell is unimaginably worse—a mixture of bleach overtop piss with a dash of chocobo manure thrown in. 

Ignis’ nose wrinkles as soon as he steps inside, but he doesn’t complain as he locks the door and fishes his cock out of his pants.

They make it fast, partially because of the smell and partially because there’s only so long Prompto can stand to be ignored before he starts searching for a new source of attention. They finish in each others’ mouths because the floor’s not too disgusting and it’s easier than trying to aim everything onto Gladio’s bare stomach.

Gladio steps out first, gaze sweeping the area until he clocks Noctis trying to tempt a chocobo chick with the same bundle of week-old greens. It goes over as well with the new audience as it had with the old.

He also notices Wiz watching him rather closely. Gladio wipes the back of his hand across his mouth before joining Noctis in the corner of the yard. 

“I don’t think the little guy’s feeling it,” Gladio says. 

“We can’t afford the expensive kind,” Noctis says. “Ignis will flay me alive if I spend any more money on chocobo feed.”

“Hey hey hey, I come bearing a solution!” Prompto jogs towards them with something cupped in his palm. He and Noctis whoop in victory when the chicobo pecks at the pepper.

“You know Ignis was saving that for his new recipe,” Gladio says.

“It’s one pepper, big guy. There’s a ton left. No way he’s ever gonna know,” Prompto says, petting the chick’s feathery head.

Ignis emerges from the bathroom, as composed and nonchalant as ever. Wiz’s head turns, and Gladio can feel his gaze flickering between the two of them.

“Uh huh,” Gladio says. “I did not condone this and I did not see this.”

Noctis coos over the animal in unabashed delight, the expression on his face stirring something inside Gladio’s chest. He hasn’t seen Noctis smile like that since they left Galdin Quay. Since their whole lives collapsed into rubble behind them. 

Gladio drifts away, scanning the forest surrounding the ranch. There’s a rustling in the distance: a lone garula would be his guess, or a wild chocobo if Wiz’s claims about the area are to be believed. There’s birdsong, but it’s faint. Daemons make it unsafe for animals and humans alike.

“Have Prompto and Noctis exhausted my store of sweet peppers in their attempts to curry favor with the local wildlife?” Ignis asks once Gladio walks into earshot. He’s seated on a plastic chair, newspaper spread across the table.

“As far as I know, Prompto only grabbed one and hasn’t been back for more. Yet.” Gladio sinks into a seat beside Ignis, winces at the hard plastic cutting into his side; the chairs wasn’t made for anyone close to his size. “You left them out for him?”

“I did. I also left a copy of the book Talk Birdy to Me: The Care and Feeding of Chocobos in the backseat of the car,” Ignis says. “Untouched and unread despite a four-hour car ride.”

“Points for the pun, but you know Noct’s all about the picture books.” Gladio says. “Maybe if you hide it inside a comic next time.”

“Tried that before. Didn’t work.” Ignis has his head tipped back, staring up at the sky. Gladio can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

Gladio tips his head back, too. Ignores the creak of chair legs underneath him. “I’ve never seen stars this bright before.”

“No clouds, no tall buildings. In a city, the light pollution obscures them,” Ignis replies. “It’s part of the reason I gave up on a dream to be an astronomer.”

“You wanted to be an astronomer?” It catches Gladio off-guard. Of course Ignis had a life before he became part of Noctis’ retinue, but it’d never occurred to Gladio that Ignis might have wanted to become anything other than a chamberlain. 

“I did.” A smile graces Ignis’ lips. “When I was a child, my mother gave me a book about constellations and a telescope. I used to peer through it for hours every night.”

“Got bored after a while, huh?” 

“Not exactly. I lost my telescope after my parents died and I moved in with my uncle. Then I had more pressing matters to attend to than staring at worlds lightyears away.” Ignis looks down, closing the newspaper in front of him. “Funny. I haven’t thought of any of this in ages.”

Gladio glances at the headline scrawled across the front page--INSOMNIA FALLS, ROYAL FAMILY DEAD--and away again. “You remember any constellations?”

“There’s the dancer.” Ignis points. “That triangle of stars is the fan she’s carrying. And beside her is a bouquet of white daisies, brought by her most ardent suitor.”

Gladio follows the movement of Ignis’ finger, imagining the dancer smiling coyly behind her fan, lover on one knee before her. 

He’d read a poem about the dancer, once, years ago. She’d enchanted the entire court with her performance, moved her suitor to propose without a single word. But as they walked through the garden on their wedding day, she was bitten by a poisonous snake. As she lay dying, her suitor begged for the gods to intercede. The depth of his love moved them to elevate the dancer to the stars so he could gaze upon her forever. 

One of Gladio’s ex-girlfriends had found it romantic, but he’d thought—still thinks—that looking up at the heavens is cold comfort to someone who’s lost everything.

Gladio’s father hasn’t responded to any of his calls, his texts, his emails. It doesn’t mean anything—he could be on the run, phone out of juice, unable to get in contact. When they reach Iris, they’ll be able to put together a plan, figure out--

“Aren’t chocobos the best?” Prompto says as he drops into a seat on the opposite side of the table with a contented sigh. “I think it’s impossible to feel down when you’re near one.”

“They do seem to lift his majesty’s spirits,” Ignis says, quietly.

“He could probably use it, you know?” Prompto’s watching Noctis cradle a sleeping chicobo in his arms. “Maybe we all could.”

Gladio stares back up at the darkness, at the bouquet of stars spilling across the sky. Cold comfort.

fin


	2. Quietude

It’s quiet in the hotel room. Gladio had forgotten how quiet a place with thick carpet and decent walls could get. Especially without the constant movement and shuffling of three other bodies. The ticking of the wall clock nearly echoes.

Iris sits on the edge of an overstuffed leather chair, shoulders slumped. Now that it’s just the two of them, the cheerful face she’d been putting on for Noctis slips. She looks thin, tired.

Gladio takes a seat across from her. “How was it back there?”

“Crawling with Imperial forces and magitek troopers for the treaty-signing,” she replies, not looking up. “When the Wall came down, they surrounded the Citadel and Dad called. He told me to meet Jared at the south gate and evacuate the city. To get as far as I could from Insomnia and wait for your call.”

“Wait for my call?” Gladio frowns. “Why not his?”

Iris shakes her head. “I don’t know. Jared had bags packed for me and Talcott already. I thought I was the only one who wasn’t in on the plan.”

“I knew security was going to be light around the Citadel and that Cor was being reassigned, but…” Gladio stares at his cell phone. No missed calls. “Dad didn’t tell me anything more than he told you.” 

“Typical Dad. Secretive as always.”

Gladio stands again, restless. “Have you heard from him since?”

Iris pulls out her cell phone to check. “No. You?”

Gladio checks again. Still nothing. “No.”

“It’s funny.” She tucks her phone away. “Yesterday I woke up in a panic about being late for school. And then I realized—that’s not something I need to worry about anymore. I guess that’s not funny, really. I don’t know what it is.”

“You okay? You need money or food or—”

“I’m okay, Gladdy,” she says. “I’ve got Jared and Talcott, so you don’t need to worry about me. You just focus on taking care of Noct.” 

“You’re my sister. I—”

“You’re the Shield of the King now,” Iris looks up, as resolute and unyielding as their father had ever been. “That comes first.”

“You should be training, too, now.” Gladio swallows. “In case I...”

“I know. I’ve already started.” Iris stands and walks to the window. “I was never sure about the prophecy. It always seemed—I don’t know, overdramatic, maybe. But after seeing those Imperial ships dropping daemons into the streets... The end of the world doesn’t seem so farfetched anymore.” 

“We're gonna stop it.” Gladio puts a hand on her shoulder. It feels inadequate. "Noct's the True King, remember?"

"But the Empire has the Crystal now. And Dad is…" Iris presses the heels of her hands to her eyes.

“He probably forgot his phone somewhere again," Gladio says, trying to project a confidence he doesn't feel. "Remember last year when he left it in a suitcase for three days and refused to let us help him find it?” 

“Right.” She slowly lowers her hands. “And he’s definitely too stubborn to borrow someone’s phone to let us know.”

“He probably doesn’t have any gil, either.” Gladio forces himself to smile, though it feels like a grimace. “So he’s probably hitchhiking his way to Lestallum, refusing to call because then he’d have to explain why he’s contacting us from an unknown number.”

“Yeah.” Iris’ lower lip trembles as she tries to smile. “Maybe tomorrow he’ll be waiting for us right outside the hotel.”

“And the first thing he’ll do is complain that we slept too late.” Gladio does his best impression of their father, “’ _Never dawdle, for time is a resource that even a King has no power to extend._ ’” 

“I always hated his lectures.” Iris pulls the curtain shut, blinking hard. 

“Yeah.” Gladio whispers. “Me, too.”

fin


	3. Volta (the turning)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis and Gladio share an evening in Lestallum.

Gladio rolls onto his side, then his back. He pushes the covers down to his waist, then throws them off completely. He counts bulettes. The first time in weeks he has the luxury of a bed to himself and he can’t settle his mind enough to enjoy it. 

A piercing snore erupts from the far side of the room, followed by Iris muttering something incoherent about moogles. Gladio sighs; it’s been a long time since he’s shared a room with his sister.

After another fifteen minutes of staring at peeling blue wall paint, he hauls himself out of bed. Iris is as heavy a sleeper as ever, which makes it easy to dress and slip out of the room. 

He’s gotten used to the fact that most towns shut down at sunset, has started night-jogging around the perimeters of motels and outposts in whatever artificial light is on offer. It's not great, but it's some kind of exercise--a real relief if they spent hours cooped up in a car earlier in the day. 

But it never occurred to him that daemons would make bars and nightlife impossible. He doesn’t mind cracking open a can of whatever's available at a local Mini-Mart, but he does miss meeting people over a drink at a pub, catching a play at the theater, walking around night-markets. He's never had to think about where or when it's safe to go out before, never had to pay such keen attention to the shortening days.

Friendly hotel staff greet him as he passes. To his surprise, the lobby front doors are wide open, streetlight spilling in. Lestallum is lit up and lively, the square filled with the hum of people. No fear of daemons or the dark.

There are women walking around, enjoying drinks after a long day of work; food cart vendors selling kebabs; musicians performing by the fountain. Drawn to the singing, Gladio joins the crowd encircling the street performers and notices a familiar figure in coeurl-print shirt.

“Ignis,” Gladio says. “What are you doing up?”

“Enjoying my first night out since Insomnia,” Ignis replies, glancing at the wrought-iron streetlamps curving above them. “That, and Prompto kicked me three times in his sleep.”

“You wouldn't think someone that scrawny could kick that hard,” Gladio says. “Prompto caught me in the solar plexus a few days ago and it felt worse than when that dualhorn charged me.”

Ignis chuckles, turning his attention back to the band. There’s a drummer and a guitarist, both of whom are pretty good. It occurs to Gladio that he can’t remember the last time he listened to live music. A concert around Founder's Day, maybe?

Ignis tosses a few gil in the band's basket. “Care for a kebab?”

“Sure,” Gladio says as they fall into step together. “Been a while since I had my last 2AM snack.”

“Nothing better after hours out dancing,” Ignis says with a small smile. He's relaxed, gait confident and easy. “Soaks up some of the alcohol and gives you the last burst of energy you need to return home.”

“Is getting home the end of the night for you or just the beginning?” Gladio asks, arm brushing up against Ignis as they line up at a stall.

“I suppose that depends on the stamina of my companion,” Ignis murmurs before he leans forward to order a kebab.

Gladio orders several meat skewers and a beer, sighing with pleasure at the first splash of cold liquid down his throat. The night air’s still sultry enough for him to sweat in his jacket.

“This is delicious,” Ignis declares after his third bite. “What seasoning do you use to achieve this flavor?”

“Thank you,” the cook says, visibly preening. “The key is spicy red peppercorns bought fresh every day from the spice market.”

“There’s a spice market?” Ignis says, and Gladio can practically hear the pages of a little black recipe book rustling. “Where? And when is it open?”

“Open pretty much 24/7. About a five-minute walk that way,” she replies, pointing towards a side street. “I say spice market, but they’ve got everything over there. Fruit, cloth, flowers—whatever you want.”

“Fresh produce," Gladio says. It's a luxury they haven't been able to afford on the road. “I could go for some fruits and vegetables that we haven’t foraged.”

“And the things I could make with new spices,” Ignis says as they stroll towards the side street. "I'll never complain about the convenience of packaged ground seasoning, but its flavor can leave a great deal to be desired."

"I think your food's delicious no matter what you cook with," Gladio says, because it's true. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Ignis duck his head, pleased.

"I forgot to ask earlier: what are you doing out and about at this hour?" Ignis asks. "Giving Iris a bit of privacy in the room?"

"Nah, she's been asleep for a while." Gladio shrugs off his jacket, conscious of Ignis’ sidelong glances at his bare chest, at his throat as he drains the beer bottle. It’s nice—a sort of lowkey flirtation with no pressure, no need to rush. Nowhere to be in the morning. "I've been having a hard time getting to sleep lately. Figured I'd run laps around the hotel. Seeing this place still alive after sundown was a pleasant surprise."

"Indeed. Arts, culture, shopping." Ignis tosses his finished kebab skewer into a trash can and wipes his fingers clean with a napkin. "It's a shame Noct isn't awake to enjoy this as well."

Even when it's just Gladio and Ignis, Noct remains an ever-present shadow. Something tightens in Gladio's chest, a little bit of acid rising in his throat. "Sleeping Beauty probably wouldn't appreciate this anyway."

"No, I suppose not," Ignis concedes. "I haven't seen any Arcades around."

The market is a riot of colors and sounds and smells. Towering piles of root vegetables sit next to baskets of yellow grain topped by dangling bulbs of garlic. As they wind their way through the stalls, vendors offer free samples, discounts on antique lamps, and bulk pricing on sacks of rice. 

They sample fresh fruits and vegetables neither of them have heard of before. Ignis buys with startling abandon, filling the largest bags the vendors have with leafy greens, tiny red berries, and ripe fruit. Depositing everything into the armiger enables them to keep shopping long after either of them would have run out of arms to carry everything. 

Gladio browses while snacking on newly purchased bananas. He's never been much of a shopper, but a bouquet of pink dawn-asters (still closed up tight in their buds) catches his attention. He approaches the florist to ask about prices, but she's busy helping another customer.

Ignis notices his interest. “Flowers for Gladiolus?” 

“For Iris. Dawn-asters are her favorite,” Gladio says. “I figure she could use some cheering up after everything she’s been through.”

Gladio can feel the warmth of Ignis’ gaze on his face. But when he turns to meet it, Ignis is looking down at a spray of white daisies, fingertips tracing the petals. “I think that’s a beautiful idea.”

“Spices!” A hawker bellows, several stalls down. “Get your fresh spices here!”

“Ah, the red peppercorns,” Ignis says as he heads over. He and the hawker launch immediately into a debate about the merits of gray truffles versus brown truffles, a topic about which Ignis has passionately held opinions that he can (and has) expounded upon for hours on end.

Gladio drifts, first browsing a stall selling hand-painted pottery (pretty, but no use for it on the road), then a stall filled with bolts of fabric, mostly linens suited to the local climate. Might be something Iris would like.

As he loops back around, he finds himself by the flower stall again. 

“Only 100 gil for a bouquet, sir,” the woman behind the counter says. 

“A bouquet of the dawn-asters,” Gladio says as he takes out his wallet. He glances at the daisies and hesitates. “And…” 

“We also sell flowers by the stem if you or your sweetheart have a favorite,” the woman says. “Lovely to wear in a buttonhole or to carry.”

“A single daisy stem, then,” he says, an impulse. “No need to wrap it.”

A few stalls down, Ignis appears to be finally paying for the enormous bag of spices he’s acquired. Gladio drops the dawn-asters into the armiger for tomorrow, palms inexplicably sweaty around the daisy he’s holding. The heat must be getting to him worse than he thought.

As Ignis turns towards him, Gladio sends the daisy into the armiger and lifts his chin in greeting. Ignis nods, not seeming to have noticed anything.

“Ready to head back?” Gladio asks.

“Not particularly.” Ignis releases his groceries into the armiger and sighs. “But I suppose we ought to. We'd set a rather poor example if we woke up after Noct.”

“Pretty sure he’d be thrilled,” Gladio replies as they head towards to the hotel. “What’s the latest you’ve ever let him sleep in?”

“’Let him’ sleep in?” Ignis repeats. “You assume I have far more influence than I actually do.”

“Oh, come on. I’ve seen you do the wakeup calls and reminders. Don’t tell me you haven’t busted in to kick his ass out of bed before.”

The square outside the Leville is still bustling with activity--despite the fact that it’s nearly 4AM. Several couples are dancing near the band.

Ignis' expression is thoughtful. “Do you remember Noct's eighteenth birthday party?”

“Sure. Dress uniforms, fireworks, and the Caelum Via rooftop bar.” Gladio chuckles at the memory of Noctis’ scowling face. “He spent the entire event sulking by the fish tank.”

“Fifteen minutes before the party was to start, I had to wake and get him dressed,” Ignis says, a touch of exasperation in his voice. “That was how the prince ended up late to his own party.”

Two men dance together nearby; they collapse into giggles as they trip over each other's feet. They move with the graceless energy and enthusiasm of youth.

“Was his plan to sleep through it?”

“It may very well have been.” Ignis sighs. “The King wanted to encourage Noct to socialize more. He was expressly forbidden from leaving the gala early.”

It’d been the event of the year and every courtier had come, including a number of eligible young ladies. Noct had shown no interest in them, the fireworks show, or the full orchestra camped on the helipad. But then again, the party really hadn't been for him.

"King Regis gave me the night off," Gladio says. "Told me to relax and enjoy myself. Not my Dad, though. He caught Noct trying to sneak out at least three times."

“That would explain why I had such trouble keeping track of Noct that evening,” Ignis says. “That, and I was instructed to set a good example by actively dancing, conversing, and mingling.”

Gladio remembers that now: how Ignis had fluttered through the evening, somber expression traded in for chivalrous self-assurance. Ignis had greeted every guest and servant with equal dignity, had managed to charm the most curmudgeonly Council Members. “I think I saw you dance with everyone there at least once that night.”

“Close to it. I even invited Noct, though of course he declined.”

“His loss. You're good dancer,” Gladio says. They'd danced together for a single song, Ignis too in demand for more than that. 

Gladio had led them in a formal waltz, a pattern of steps they’d both danced since they were children. Ignis had been an excellent follow: responsive, attentive, graceful. It'd been a pleasant interaction during a pleasant party, though they didn't talk much during or after.

Ignis frowns. “Did you and I dance together?”

“Yeah.” Gladio blinks, startled by the question. “You asked me to.”

Ignis’ brow furrows. “I did?”

Gladio forces a chuckle to mask the sting. “Guess I was a pretty memorable partner.”

“No, I—” Ignis rubs his forehead, clearly embarrassed. “There were so many people that night and Noct was in a mood. I apologize."

“Nah, maybe I’m misremembering. I danced with a lot of people, too,” Gladio lies. 

A gray-haired man and woman dance by the musicians. They move with the ease of years together, the man spinning her away with utter faith that she’ll return to his arms. They connect with the barest brush of fingertips, perfectly in sync. The sight of it makes something ache inside Gladio's chest. He's not sure why.

"I'm certain you are as excellent a dance partner as you are a sparring partner," Ignis says.

"I don't know about that. Fighting someone off has always come easier to me than holding someone close," Gladio says. "Anyway, it was a fun party.”

“Was it?” Ignis’ smile turns a bit wistful. “It felt like duty at the time. Something to be endured, not enjoyed.”

"I was annoyed I couldn't drink more because my Dad was there." Gladio shakes his head. "Now it just seems stupid how mad I got about booze."

“I was always worrying about Noct, about one thing after another. But now I wonder…” Ignis abruptly turns to Gladio and extends his hand. “Would you care to join me?”

“What? Now?” Gladio glances around the square, which is filled with revelers. No one is paying attention to either him or Ignis.

Ignis’ arm falters. “If you’re amenable. I understand it is rather late.”

“I…” Gladio doesn't know why he's hesitating. Doesn't know why his heart is suddenly beating hard. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

“Alright.” Ignis exhales and squares his shoulders. “Would you like to lead or…?” 

“Nah, you lead.” Gladio's feet feel heavy, clumsy. He’s not sure he could lead if he tried. 

The musicians are playing a slow waltz. Ignis’ arms come up to bring Gladio into a close hold, his grip firm but careful. He's not wearing his driving gloves, palms dry against Gladio's bare shoulder and waist. Ignis' hands are soft, but Gladio can feel the beginning of calluses.

They slide into the rise, the sway, and the fall with little trouble, Ignis confident in his box step. The way he leads is courtly. Restrained. The proximity doesn't feel sexual so much as--intimate. Gladio can smell the last traces of Ignis' cologne, clean sweat, and cinnamon. Familiar, but different, now.

They've barely begun when the song comes to an end, music transitioning into something faster. 

Ignis takes a stronger hold, moving through a series of steps Gladio doesn't quite recognize. Gladio tries to keep up as Ignis whirls them around, but the tempo is relentless, surging. He can feel himself losing track of the rhythm, struggling to keep up. He falls out of sync with the music and out of step with Ignis. 

Ignis sends him out for a spin, but Gladio doesn't know how to execute the turn. He loses hold of Ignis' hand and his balance, staggering several feet away. 

“Sorry,” Gladio says as he waits for the world to right itself again. “I’m kind of dizzy.”

“No need to apologize, the fault is mine.” Ignis is panting, sweat causing his carefully styled hair to flop forward into his eyes. Gladio realizes he's sweating, too. "I got carried away."

The song ends, and a spontaneous cheer erupts from the audience. Gladio stares at Ignis across the dance floor, the distance separating them minimal. And yet it feels--impossible for him to bridge. 

Ignis bows, formal manners coming to the fore once more. “Thank you for taking a turn with me.”

“Guess I haven't improved,” Gladio says, something twisting in his gut. 

“Gladio—”

“Hey, the sun’s gonna come up soon,” Gladio interrupts. Around them, the courtyard is beginning to grow lighter, birds beginning to chirp.

“Already?” Ignis cranes his head back. "We should go inside."

"Can't believe we stayed out this long," Gladio says as they head towards the Leville.

Ignis pauses at the front doors to look back at the square. “I’ve missed this.”

“Seeing the wrong side of dawn? Or wandering city streets at night?”

Ignis brushes the hair from his eyes, and for a moment Gladio can see the sly, seventeen-year-old courtier he used to be. “Both, I suppose.”

They walk upstairs in silence and stop in front of Ignis' room. “Thank you for the wonderful evening,” Ignis says, voice hushed as he unlocks the door.

“Iggy.” Gladio summons the white daisy from the armiger behind his back, clutches the stem so tightly he feels it bend.

Ignis looks up. “Yes?”

Gladio takes a deep breath, meeting those fathomless green eyes. He’s presented flowers to countless women--and a few men. He's delivered poetry and kisses, dazzled with romance. Dating's always been fun for him, relationships pleasant diversions that never got too serious. 

But he and Ignis—they don’t go on dates. They don’t hold hands or talk about the future. They exchange handjobs and fight daemons and talk about Noct.

Gladio dismisses the daisy back to the armiger and says, “Sleep in a little, okay?”

Ignis smiles, crooked and lovely. “I shall endeavor to try.”

Gladio returns to his room. Leaves the bouquet of dawn-asters on the nightstand for Iris; the buds are beginning to unfurl but aren't quite ready to bloom yet.

He climbs into bed. Ignis invited him for kebabs at 2AM--so what? Ignis would have done the same with Noct if he were awake, and maybe with Prompto, too. Would probably have preferred Noct, if given the choice out of all of them. Gladio just happened to be around.

Gladio pulls the covers up and closes his eyes. A whole bed to himself, for once. He should enjoy it.

fin


End file.
